We Are Paladin
by MaddieStJ
Summary: Preconceived Notions Are Not Always Correct!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just something that's been bouncing around my head. There may be romance and there may be a crossover. I just have to figure out how to make that all work!

Don't own any of these ACD/Moffatt/Gatiss characters but do own the OCs. Just tinkering around with a character I feel could be utilized a bit better. And yes, it's AU and that means I can have all the fun I want….BWAHAHAHAHAHA…cough, cough, BWAHA…wheeze…whew! Welcome to the Paladin Universe!

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_We walk in the light, and see the obstacles of life_

_We dare not stop, for our pride follows_

_We are the paladins; we have come to cleanse this land._ – Samuel Daniel

_Paladin, Paladin,_

_Where do you roam?_

_Paladin, Paladin_

_Far, far from home. – Johnny Western_

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Prologue: Nexus

_noun_ ( pl.** same **or **nexuses **)

• a connection or series of connections linking two or more things_._

• • a connected group or series_._

• the central and most important point or place.

Arthur Malloy looked around the large room. Nodding his head, he stopped hovering, smiled, and thought, _yes, everything looks much better when it's clean. _Pushing his spectacles over the bridge of his nose, he straightened up from wrapping the cord around the machine. He pushed it over to its designated closet and then made his way to one of the lavatories to wash his hands before going down to the kitchen to help with the dinner prep.

He had been at Windemere House for nine and one half weeks. It was a new shelter that seemed to have sprung up overnight. It was clean, had showers, nice beds, good food and caring people. He was glad it wasn't one of the places where you had to endure some sort of preaching to get a meal.

He had come there as just one of the many seeking to get out of the elements, stay warm and get food on a regular basis. But he'd come by every day and soon found himself as a volunteer of sorts, helping out around the place. He wasn't really using his skill set but was glad to have purpose back in his life.

The conversation at dinner was lively and Arthur had struck up a friendship of sorts with a few other individuals around the table whose pasts were a bit more interesting than his. They all kept up with their former industries and discussed things at the table.

And things progressed along those lines until two weeks later when one of the group failed to show up to dinner three days running. Questions were asked around the table and no answers were forthcoming. Another person failed to turn up six weeks later. One person was one thing, but the individual that failed to turn up this was a stickler for punctuality and always on time, in fact usually showed up a bit early. The group was concerned. Arthur even went so far as to check with the administrators of Windemere House but no one seemed to know anything. After all, since when does a homeless person have an address?

A month later at the end of the evening, Arthur was dealing with the bins. He was outside at the back making sure they were lined up in the correct positions when he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head; things went white, then began to fade to black. He tried to hold on to his consciousness but the pain was too great and he felt himself slipping away.

"I don't know if we should have done this one. He's not like the others." Through the haze of pain, Arthur thought he recognized the voice.

"Do stop whining. He's just another transient. If he'd had someone and some place to go, he wouldn't have been here. No one will miss him."

But Arthur Malloy wasn't a "forgotten, down on his luck" man. He was three things: first, a smart and talented man with good skills who had gotten caught in the economic downturn; secondly, a member of a certain homeless network and last but not least, had just gotten a new job in the research department of a tech company.

And through all the experimenting on his body and the injections, the branding and being brought to London and tossed in an alley in dirty, stained and foul smelling clothes, if he'd been at all aware, the tall, middle aged mild mannered greying redheaded and bespectacled Arthur Malloy would have been quite upset. Because even with his reduced circumstances, he had been fastidious about himself and had continued to cling to that as best he could.

So, in all honesty, with what had happened to him over the last 10 days, it was good he was dead.


	2. I Went Away But Now I'm Back

See disclaimer in the Prologue. Don't forget this story is strictly AU.

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Chapter One – I Went Away, but Now I'm Back

_3 days after Arthur is kidnapped._

Sherlock Holmes and his Belstaff coat and scarf stepped into Autopsy followed by John Watson. Sherlock had been talking to John; stopped and began talking to Molly Hooper who had her back to them.

"...Seriously. You know this is all your fault."

"Yes. Yes, I do and I don't know how many times I can apologize," laughed Molly as she adjusted the tie on her scrub pants.

"Molly, I want to see that body that was brought in from the platform at Piccadilly station," said Sherlock.

"Hmpf. Even if you apologize a trillion times, it's not good enough. Laugh all you want. I kept motioning for you to shut up but you just kept on yappin'. And now we're stuck. Honestly! It's just this side of ridiculous!"

"Um, Sherlock?"

"One moment, John."

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock."

"Again, John, one moment."

"Sherlock. Molly's is talking to someone else right now. "

"Dull." John sighed.

Molly continued with her conversation moving over her work tray and began organizing her tools.

"You keeping whining, and I keep apologizing." Molly said, chuckling while she looked over the chart pertaining to the body on her table.

"Which I undoubtedly will continue to at moments that suit me."

Molly shook her head. "Hold that thought. I've got to get something from another cabinet."

Molly turned around and froze seeing Sherlock and John. "Sherlock? Can I help you?"

"As I said before, I need to see the body from the platform at Piccadilly station."

Molly went over to the aforementioned cabinet and came away with a Plexiglas face shield in her hand. She replied, "I wasn't paying any attention, Sherlock. I was and still am on a call."

Sherlock glared at Molly, gave an impatient huff and said, "How could it possibly be of any significance?" John did roll his eyes at that and shot the detective a look he chose to ignore.

"Madame? Is that whom I think it is?" the voice on the speaker inquired with no little amusement in its voice.

'Um, yes it is," replied Molly, glancing at the two men before going over to sink to wash her hands.

Laughing again, the voice said, "Well, I'll leave you and Jason with Mr. Main. I've got to get back to what I'm supposed to be doing. And let me know when you going to do the presentation. If you can stretch it to see Camille, stay at the house." Paper shuffling and a ringing phone could be heard. "And don't **you** forget what **we're** supposed to be doing later."

"I won't and I won't forget the chips."

"Well, you know if you do there'll be hell to pay. And it's, you know, that ugly hell." And they both laughed. "And now I've really got to go, people are being a bit frantic here. But I will remind you about something, if you think you're ready for it. "

Molly pursed her lips and considered while drying her hands. "You know what?" She looked at Sherlock and John. "I believe I am. I'm thinking it's about time, you know?

"I do. Actually, by my calendar you're two years late. You and Camille bring everything back on line. Better late than never, I always say. Anyway, don't forget what Shamballah Borneo says."

Molly blinked several times, cleared her throat and laughed. "I won't. Thank you."

"'Tis nothing. Oh! One more thing. Corrine wants to know if she can get your opinion on something."

"Of course she can." Molly smiled. "Talk to you later."

"Bye for now."

"Bye Phil."

After the call disconnected, Molly walked over to the counter and fiddled with her iPhone in its dock before moving to another cabinet. "Now, gentlemen, remind me how I can assist you."

Scowling, Sherlock spoke. "You wouldn't have to be reminded if you ceased dealing with your insignificant call. I need to see the body from the platform at Piccadilly Station."

Molly came away from the cabinet with her electric saw. She closed the door, turned around and calmly replied, "Well, since I don't seem to have managed to lose my hearing during lunch, I can safely say that, yes, I did hear you. However as you were informed, I was on a call. As for the body, yes, you can see it," and she held up her hand palm facing outward, "once it gets here. This," and she indicated the body upon the table, "is not it. I will let you know when it gets here. There was a hold up with the transport. Now if you will excuse me," and saying that, she put on the plex shield, adding, "and no, Sherlock, I will not fetch you a coffee because I don't have the time. You know where everything is if you want one."

John looked between Molly and Sherlock. It was very rare that Molly would assert herself like that. It was…interesting. Sherlock kept standing there glaring at the pathologist as if by strength of will he could force Molly to do his bidding. Molly, meanwhile, having said what she had to say, had gone over to the body on the table and was making some notes on the clipboard.

She looked up, after a few minutes, and was surprised to see both Sherlock and John still in her Autopsy Room. "Sherlock. I really will text you once the body, no, I will text you when I find out when it's on the way. Then you should be able to be here once it arrives." She smiled. "You'll just have to be…patient," she said looking at the tall detective. Sherlock scowled harder and John did roll his eyes at that.

Molly glanced past both men at the clock on the wall behind them. "Gentlemen. I really have to finish this; my report is needed for court tomorrow morning. So if you don't mind." Molly made a shooing motion and then looked up at the ceiling. "Audio. Continue recording subject: John Norton." She pulled some cut resistant gloves and lowered the plex shield over her face.

There were several muted clicks. Molly bent back to her work; Sherlock looked very much put out; and John was having a hard time holding back his laughter at a very gobsmacked consulting detective. Taking advantage of the silence, he just took hold of Sherlock's elbow and steered him toward the door. The sound of Molly's saw followed them out.


End file.
